Inward Neglect
By Bob Mitchley
Elias is starting to feel vulnerable and overwhelmed during the horrific tragedies he must deal with day after day…
Giles Upton worked himself rich, and then built a castle to protect his family from all worldly haunts…
It was January 20th, 2017. Elias was smack in the middle of nowhere ville, roaming to and fro throughout the surrounding foothills of Utah, which overlooked the vast desert sea. An oppressive heaviness settled on him; something evil and sly had concealed itself as a cloak of darkness, smothering the aura about him.
Elias: I arrived early at the Giles Upton castle and decided to check out the estate. Who builds a castle-house nowadays, excluding a moat? Was it based on a factor of fear due to world events? I don’t know, but I guess, if you have the money, why not—thinking to himself.
As usual, I had my invoice in hand, detailing whom and just how many spirits I was going to be collecting on this dreadful night. Also, I was told in advance to wait in the downstairs family room, which is where my job would start and end. I had sequestered an eight-hour time frame for this night''s work from the Home Office. They blatantly warned me that it was going to be an ugly scene… but that’s alright, I’m used to all kinds of ugly. Yep, I''ve pretty much seen it all. Yet in another sense, each fatality has its own torrid finality. My niche is to collect the spirits of the dying at any given hour. The Home Office nicknamed me Elias the dread; I guess it suits me. Many of the other caretakers whom I know have semi-easy jobs, at least when it comes to finalizing someone’s death. Most of the time, those caretakers deal with things like heart attacks and stroke victims… or, and this is a good one, someone had passed in their sleep! Talk about boredom! I don’t know how they stay awake on the job. Sure, I usually return with a lot of traumatized spirits, who by no choice of their own had to depart their mutilated bodies, which is to say, most of them pass on without a friend who could hold their hand, helping to calm their spirit. So, in their darkest hour, I''m their friend in need as their life source slips away into that great chasm. I want to be remembered as a friend to all ‘distressed souls.’ I’ve noticed, almost without fail, when people are fighting for that last agonizing breath, they hold out their quivering hands towards me, almost as a basic instinct. I''ll grasp it tight, but with a bit of trepidation, as they take their last breath.
